My Gift to You
by St. Harridan
Summary: After the war that claimed many lives and sealed Aizen away, Jushiro gives Kenpachi a new haori and something much more.


Jushiro stepped lightly into the room, careful not to disrupt the peaceful silence. For once it was calm. Kenpachi sat by the window, smoking his pipe with a bottle of _sake _and a cup on the floor beside him. Dressed in nothing but a hakama, his features stood out well-defined in the silvery glow of moonlight. Shadows rendered deeper, darker, revealing the true extent of his muscles that was often hidden away by the loose shihakusho and haori.

Kenpachi didn't even look up when Jushiro approached, not even when Jushiro knelt down beside him and took the _sake _bottle in his hand. He frowned, shaking his head at the empty cup, and filled it to the brim.

"Go take another one from the kitchen," Kenpachi murmured, lips barely moving around the pipe. "I got a feelin' that ye need a drink yerself."

"There's no need." Jushiro set the bottle down and offered the cup to Kenpachi, who took it without a word and slurped the alcohol down with a swift tip of his head. He set it carelessly back down on the floor and regarded Jushiro, the questioning glint poorly masked in his eyes. Jushiro shook his head, placed a hand on Kenpachi's arm to reassure him.

"It's late, I'll not be staying long."

Kenpachi scoffed and blew a rushed ring of smoke into the air. It hovered for a moment or two, lazily intertwining around itself until it dissipated into thin air.

"Suit yerself."

Jushiro knelt there for a short while longer, gazing out the window at the night ahead of them. Lanterns hung from the edges of roofs and estate gates, illuminating the darkness. The moon itself was a fair sight, bright and calming in its own right as it kept watch over the Seireitei. Rooftop tiles gleamed, shadows chased away by the ethereal glow of nature.

For once, Jushiro found it hard to talk. His words seemed to be stuck in the base of his throat, and he feared that if he were to force them out, he'd be nothing but a blabbering mess. The only other time that he remembered feeling this way was when he heard of Aizen's faked death, and that was only a lenient comparison.

It wasn't death that caged him. This time, it was the undoubted closeness he had been to death. And what made it worse was how Kenpachi too had been near to losing his soul. Jushiro could never imagine himself or Kenpachi being on the verge of damnation. He had to admit that the Espada were pretty tough, but being in an absolute void with the vile whispers of Death in his ear had left a mark on him.

Jushiro couldn't help but wonder what it had felt like to Kenpachi. How was it to finally be consumed by darkness after being the one who granted it?

"Zaraki." It was just a small murmur, but Kenpachi heard it all the same. He turned slightly from the window to look at Jushiro out of the corner of his eye. Jushiro regarded him for a moment or two, and then he switched positions so that he was kneeling before Kenpachi. From inside the folds of his shihakusho he produced a soft, square-shaped package wrapped up in plain brown paper and tied with string. All too aware of Kenpachi's scrutinizing gaze upon him, Jushiro set the package down between them and carefully unravelled it.

Jushiro had done all this by himself – the wrapping, the tying, everything – while he was still recuperating in the hospital. When he heard the news of Shunsui, Byakuya and Kenpachi who lost their captain's haori in their respective battles, he had immediately sent for Sentaro and Kiyone. Even though Retsu had told him, advised him, not to over-exert himself as his body was still fragile from the beating, he continued his task nonetheless.

He didn't want to be seen as weak. Despite being in a hospital, he knew that he could do something. Now he could only hope that his hard work would pay off.

"This." Jushiro straightened up to allow Kenpachi the full view of what he had brought with him. A neatly folded, newly made captain's haori sat there before him. The kanji character for "eleven" was stitched perfectly in black thread across the shoulder blades while the rich, deep purple that bathed the inner part of the haori proclaimed a heightened sense in spirituality, nobility.

Jushiro felt a wave of pleasure at the stunned look on Kenpachi's face, but he couldn't deny the ache in his chest as well. He picked the haori up, delicate fingers pinching just a bit of the shoulders as if he didn't want to stain it, and neared Kenpachi.

"What are y-" Kenpachi froze in place, words stuck in his throat, as Jushiro flapped the haori around him. It caught slightly on the cool night breeze, but then quickly settled onto his broad, bare shoulders like a feather coming to rest.

"This is my gift to you." Jushiro smoothed his hands over Kenpachi's shoulders to eliminate the wrinkles in the cloth, also to touch and feel his strong being under his hands. He wanted to make sure that Kenpachi was as all right as he said he was. Although he knew that he would never be able to see the wounds that probably had his soul in tatters, he was still grateful to have Kenpachi here in one piece.

"It's my hope that this will protect you, guide your hand through each battle you fight, guide your eyes through each slaughter you witness." Jushiro allowed his fingertips to trail up Kenpachi's neck, fleeting as they slipped along his jaw line. His thumbs caressed the sides of Kenpachi's face, traced the sharp contours of his high cheekbones, the familiar warmth comforting to his touch.

"Let it guide your soul on the right path so that you won't go astray," Jushiro swallowed hard and, brushing the hair out of Kenpachi's eyes, leaned down to press a soft kiss to his forehead, "so that you'll always return safely into my arms."


End file.
